Mist Along The Willapa River

By Tom Brosman

He was born on a night when the thick rain sang and the white mist slowly danced

The mist danced in from the frothy ocean and waltzed up and down the Willapa

His mother held him and smiled as she saw in the babe her beloved husbands’ glance

He grasped his fathers’ strong sure hand that had lost three fingers to the mills big saw

The babies’ dad was thrilled as she handed her husband their happy smiling son

And he gently cradled his sons’ head in his hand with a just finger and a thumb

The kindness of his parents surrounded him, contented him as his life had just begun

And the cozy home bought with a mill mans’ pay was as good as any castle to them

The boy grew into manhood and his parents and a lot of his friends all passed away

Like his dad he worked for 30 years at the Raymond at Weyerhaeuser’s Lumber Mill

He had had a wife who loved him dearly and children who grew up and on their way

In the fall with rifle he tramped the woods for elk to keep his big chest freezer filled

Those busy years flew by and he grew old and retired a hundred yards from the mill

His wife passed on and his kids still wrote but they had moved several states away

Old age was not all they advertised and he missed his loved ones buried on the hill

Somehow he felt more at home with them and their warm memories filled his days

Every night he walked along the Willapa when it was clear or a rainy stormy night

He could see the lights of the mill and Raymond across that strong, sea coast river

The old man would muse and walk and recall the good and bad chapters of his life

For his failings he forgave himself and for the good chapters he thanked his Maker

One night on a walk he saw thick silver fog moving towards him on the Willapa River

From the mist he heard laughing happy voices, from his past and sweetly familiar

There from the fog was a 3 fingered hand, beckoning, his father, wife and mother

He looked around for one last time and then his spirit ran to join his people forever

A fisherman found his body on the Rivers’ bank in the warm sunshine in the morning

His last expression was peaceful and he had left from where he had first begun it all

They buried him there beside his people within sight of the River and Raymond

He had always known they would come for him in the sweet and dancing silver fog